


dancing with your ghost (in the winter snow)

by quiet_lights



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 20:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18645844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet_lights/pseuds/quiet_lights
Summary: And so, he walked onwards, even more into the unforgiving cold, towards the mountains that never neared./in which Steve returns the soul stone back to Vormir.





	dancing with your ghost (in the winter snow)

**Author's Note:**

> not beta-ed. 
> 
> just a small little idea i had after watching the movie :]

Alien soil beneath his feet, billions and billions of lightyears away. A dying star in perpetual eclipse, fading starlight forever caught in a loop of incessant twilight.

Barren, desolate, quiet.

So, so quiet he could hear the ringing in his ears, the pounding of his heart against his chest.

But when he stepped out of the ship, steel-tipped boots parting brittle alien soil, it wasn’t the breathtaking alien planet, nor its bitter, frigid cold, unrelenting like an iron vice clasped tight around his neck, that struck Steve first.

 _This was where she died_.

He left his shield back on the ship next to his mask. They were unnecessary for the next part of his journey. He wasn’t here looking for a fight, not that he’d win even so. With only his spacesuit and a weather-enduring cloak wrapped around his shoulders, he started in the direction of the faraway mountains, one steady step at a time.

-

At some point in his journey, he could no longer keep track of how far he’d walked.

The ship he’d arrived on had long disappeared into a dark, murky fog that consumed all in his horizon.

But surely, he’d walked for a long, long time, and yet the mountains never grew closer, as if with each step taken forward, they’d move an equal step back.

Like a never-ending path.

But still, he continued forward, never faltering, spurred on by something far stronger than even the serum coursing through his veins.

A reason.

A purpose.

 _Her_.

And so, he walked onwards, even more into the unforgiving cold, towards the mountains that never neared.

-

He walked for a long time, and then—they did, rising like obsidian behemoths, icy crowns hidden within thunderous clouds. He was finally at the mountain-steps.

It was colder than before, and as he reached across his face to tighten his cloak, fingers brushed against hair that wasn’t there before.

How long had he walked? Was it a day? A week? Perhaps even a month?

He couldn’t tell.

Time—like everything else on this planet, worked in a way he couldn’t explain.

-

The cold air turned into snow the higher he ascended. Tiny flakes that disintegrated upon touch, slipping through his gloved fingertips, a beautiful melancholy, ruined by memories of dust slipping through the very same.

Then, there he was. At the entrance to the end.

And like he’d been told, the hooded gatekeeper awaited, silently, motionlessly, endlessly.

There came no greeting.

The gatekeeper simply turned away, and Steve followed. Followed in equal silence, quiet companions on an alien planet, on a path that led towards the end.

They came upon the altar, and when the gatekeeper removed his hood, the face that greeted Steve was not the one he’d prepared for.

It wasn’t the face he’d last seen more than half a century ago. It wasn’t Schmidt. It wasn’t the Red Skull.

It was _her_.

-

For hours, he sat on the cliff’s edge, legs hanging loosely over the side. The figure with _her_ face hovered in the space just beyond his reach, silent, as she’d been since the first question, no matter the more he’d asked, no matter the words he’d said, no matter the bargains he’d offered, and no matter the desperation in which he’d begged.

She just floated there in front of him, right in front but just beyond reach, wordlessly, emotionlessly, dark robes fluttering in the endless twilight’s chill.

She offered nothing, wanted nothing, but still—he waited.

He waited.

“ _What am I supposed to do?”_

And he waited.

He was unyielding, even as the air grew colder, even as time ravaged him older, as gentle snow turned into harsh ice on his thinning, greyed mane, as his skin started to sag and his pupils paled so ivory, he could no longer see beyond the white around him.

Still, he stayed, waiting on that ledge, waiting for a reply.

“ _How do I get you back?”_

A reply which never came.

-

He thought he might be dead. Or perhaps he was, for things did not follow the laws of nature on this planet.

His body had become so old, so frail, that he couldn’t leave now even if he wanted to.

It took all of him to open his eyes, silvery irises focusing, fearful in that moment in which he thought she’d left him.

Left him _again_.

But there she still was, hovering in the space just beyond reach, as quiet and still as young as all his years taken away.

He tried to ask her again, something, anything that could garner a response, even the simplest of acknowledgements that’d eluded him all these years.

He tried, but he was so old, so, so old, and so, so cold, that he couldn’t even muster a croak, much less a sentence.

So, he did what he still had the strength to do.

He waited.

-

He slept for the longest time.

Until he no longer could.

The cold was piercing now; he could feel it inside his bones, so brittle now they could break at even the slightest touch.

He inhaled.

Exhaled.

Inhaled.

Then, he exhaled a final time, eyes fluttering to a close, and as he slipped backwards, further and further into the snow, something warm caught him, anchoring him towards life.

His ice-caked eyes flickered wide-open, a feat in itself, for he no longer had even the strength left to blink.

And there she was, finally, in front of him, a hand warm against his cheek.

Warmth, tenderness, peace, but also regret.

Words whispered so softly it took him another whole eternity to hear them all.

_“Steve_

_It’s time_

_To let me go.”_

He knew she was right.

She always was.

It was finally time.

He inhaled again.

And on his final exhale, he yielded, and finally let go. He released his palm, letting the soul stone fall from his grasp. It fell deep into the chasm below, its faint glow soon swallowed by the darkness beyond.

The snow calmed, and it was quiet for some time, peaceful even. Then, there was blinding light, and a storm rose forth like an angry demon and devoured the caliginous sky.

Hell froze over, colder than anything he’d felt, colder than even the icy cocoon that’d embraced him for more than half a century after the war, that stole a lifetime away.

Then it was warm again, the imprint of her touch burned against his cheek, forming a protective layer from the swirling ice. He leaned into her warmth, into the hand that was no longer there, and when the storm came to pass, there was nothing left.

Afterwards, he laid on a flat tundra, in ankle deep water and, he realized—as he got up onto his feet—that he was young again.

It took him some time, but he remembered.

He touched his hand to his cheek, feeling the lingering warmth, both hands, including the one which no longer held the stone, returned to its keeper anew.

He mourned, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

He could see the mountains behind him as he boarded the ship, but somehow, somewhere deep inside him, he knew it was a journey he could no longer make, even if he’d spend the rest of his remaining days walking in that direction.

Because, he’d finally let go.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate ending: 
> 
> Then it was warm again, the imprint of her touch burned against his cheek, forming a protective layer from the swirling ice. He leaned into her warmth, into the hand that was no longer there, and when the storm came to pass, there was nothing left.
> 
> Afterwards, he laid on a flat tundra, in ankle deep water, and—
> 
> “Steve?”
> 
> -
> 
> Proper end notes: 
> 
> i have this idea where time (and pretty much everything else) works differently on Vormir, along with the idea of Steve just sitting there by the cliff's edge, waiting for Natasha to return, knowing that she'd be gone forever if he releases the soul stone, so he waits, and he waits, and he waits, because... well... he could do this all day :) 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed! let me know what you think!


End file.
